I was not capable of
contradicting the quietness.
A silent emotion was insulting me.
Forgetting the self-denial
I went for choosing the impossible.
Am I sick of myself?
The agony overwhelms me with mystic relief.
Here and now I feel the human spirit
outsmarting the gifts of revenge
in the eyes of past.
No hope of breeze. It is hot inside,
the spirit burning. False peers
were scoring with debts of darkness.
Tiny ideas crowd the mind
flying straight through the mist of anguish
I elect to be nothing.
Very well written poem Satish, its a beautiful depiction of what a lot of us go through and the emotions which are very rarely shared.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Whether to eat a cold sandwich with a slice of processed meat and some kind of emulsified spread on the light, white, fluffy bread. Greed says the pickle is a cover for the soft crusts which do not crunch. After lunch I will cut the excess fat from my belly with a dull knife.